It was back-to-school season, and I was going to be in third grade. It was time to buy my school clothes at JCPenney. But we ended up buying only white shirts and no red ones whatsoever, because there weren't any good ones left.

The first day, I wore a white shirt.

Second, white again.

Third, white again.

Fourth, white again.

Fifth day, Mom handed me my red shati from sekunde grade. I was excited. But she alisema it was tight, so I had to change my shati and wear a white one instead. I was saddened.

At school, almost everyone else donned red shirts. I was so sad not to be one of them. I was so envious that I burst into tears on my way home.
I told Mom that I wanted to wear the red shati to school and I needed a new one.

And the whole thing happened again in fourth grade, but it was finally fixed and solved in fifth grade.

Even my Marafiki Kain and Jonathan were in the same mashua when they were in middle school. (And kwa boat, I’m not talking about an actual boat, I just mean that they had the same wish and same problem.)

But it was just the first week, and it was just the beginning. And it was not really the most exciting part of third grade. Rather, the middle and end were zaidi filling and zaidi fun than the first week. Guess not all beginnings are always great.